


Tell that to Kanjiklub

by 5ofSpades



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Adorable Space Octopus, Adorable Space Octopus Babies, Alternate Universe - Prison, An Aquarium, Breeding Program for Endangered Species, Brendol's mom has it goin' on, Community: tfa_kink, Cosplay, Crack, Doctored Reports, Dread Pirate Lord!Hux, Engineer!Hux, Extreme Mad Sewing Skills, Extremely Dubious Consent, Government Corruption, High Mountain Sapir Tea, Hole Digging, Humor, Imperial Uniform kink, Ladies of Nar Kanji, Luke can't hold on to his students, M/M, Mandatory Foreign Language Classes, Many Habits of a Highly Ineffective Government, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Organ Theft, Original Character(s), Other, Polyandry (?), Polygamy (?), Poor Millicent, Prison Bitch!Hux, Prison Lord!Hux, Serious, Sounding, Space Pirate!Mitaka, Tell That To Kanjiklub, Tentacles, The Empire Did Nothing Wrong, The New Republic - Freeform, Tummy rubs, Xeno, arts and crafts, light fluff, light gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6695530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5ofSpades/pseuds/5ofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Ben(or Kylo)/Hux, Hux/OMCs, Power Bottom!Prison Queen!Hux<br/>Hux making his way up in the prison hierarchy reflecting his rise in rank in the FO.</p><p> </p><p>Fill:<br/>Not quite PowerBottom!Hux, but certainly a NotTakingItLyingDown!Hux.</p><p>Hux's horrible adventures in jail (for himself and other people) + bad people doing bad things (and other bad people).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pit

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt: Ben(or Kylo)/Hux, Hux/OMCs, Power Bottom!Prison Queen!Hux**  
>  Because Hux seems to be the sort of person who is in power/who will go down fighting no matter the long/short stick he gets in life.
> 
> Instead of being exiled/executed/punished (for either war crimes in NR or failure in FO), he is incarcerated and turned into the prison whore due to his delicate/pretty appearance. Except the ex-General isn't going to take his disgrace lying down. Oh no, the Resistance/New Republic/FO is going to pay, even if he has to manipulate/charm/whore his way to do so.
> 
> \+ Hux making his way up in the prison hierarchy reflecting his rise in rank in the FO  
> \+ his collection of lovesick/utterly charmed 'lapdogs'  
> +++ at least one prison authority who respects/admires Hux('s military service record)  
> ++ Hux creating his little 'kingdom' (prison takeover?)  
> \+ maybe some Kylux (or Ben/Hux)- don't know and don't care how

** **Day 1** **

Ben Solo looked at the man outside of his cell door, with his neatly trimmed beard, carefully styled hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a face full of freckles, and the same ice blue eyes as he remembered from another lifetime.

“General?” Ben had never seen the General in casual wear, no, smuggler wear, before.

“Not quite,” the man said, shifting his grip on the pulse rifle in his hand.

Behind him Ben could see what looked like the Guavian Death Gang marching all the former guards and staff of Ben’s correction facility none-too-gently toward various detention cells.

“Join me on my ship for refreshments or join them, Lord Kylo Ren. Your choice, of course,” the man offered upon noticing where Ben’s attentions had strayed.

Ben tried not to cringe at the cut-short scream as one of the guards was shot point blank in the back.

**

“How did you get off the Pit? Contact the remnants of the First Order? Convince all these space gangs to work with you?” Ben held still and held back his instinct to fidget in his seat. Ben had never fidgeted in front of Hux before. No, but that man was not really Ben. That was Kylo Ren.

“Ah, that would be a long story. Sapir Tea, Lord Ren? High Mountain grade,” Hux smiled and held out a steaming cup.

“I am not Lord Ren anymore. Haven’t been for a long time,” Ben mumbled, but took the cup nevertheless.

****⍟****

 

** **The Pit** **

The aggressive and unkind hands, the freezing jets of water on his forcefully stripped and shivering body, the threadbare, scratchy uniform, the impersonal and unprofessional shave. The shoving, the jeering, the mockery. These are all old slights and sufferings. He had experienced them all and worse at the Academy before. He was well prepared.

The men holding him down, their foul breaths, groping and pinching hands, fists and feet. The burning intrusion, the repeated friction, the blood and stench. These too were nothing new. Although there were never any non-humans before, nor were there quite so many at once.

But Hux was a survivor. If the unfavoured son could become a prodigy military leader, then the prison bitch could become something far more influential and vicious as well.

One ringleader died from an electricity leak. Another tripped down a flight of stairs. Yet another slipped on a slippery tile and cracked his head. But more men came, and Hux was easily overpowered.

**

This was nothing new, nothing new at all. So repeated Hux to himself as a mantra in his own head, as he woke up in med bay, with the assistant medical officer on duty (the only assistant medical officer in the Pit, an underground prison dug into a prison island on this prison planet, with a single incoming and outgoing seaport on the island, connected to a single incoming and outgoing spaceport on the main continent) tsked about how lucky Hux was to get any medical attention at all, when inmates died from lack of timely care every month. 

Hux supposed he was lucky indeed, to have Organa herself stress publicly that as a former child-solider, instead of death, he should be sentenced to reflect and repent behind bars. He was lucky indeed, to have various New Republic senators stress privately that General Starkiller should be kept alive in his imprisonment, so that he may suffer for as long as possible.

****⍟****


	2. The General Population

** **Day 2** **

“Organa is dead you know.”

“No!”

“You are in denial, Ren. Obviously you missed the moment of her death with the Force suppressor on you. But it is not on you anymore. So read my mind now, and see that I tell the truth. Feel it with your precious Force. She is not there anymore, is she?”

Ben Solo heard only ringing in his ears, and saw only spots before his eyes, even as Hux explained how the New Republic had planned to execute Ben, in complete contradiction to their original promises, now that Leia Organa, that poor old doting woman, was finally out of the way. 

****⍟****

 

** **The General Population** **

Some of the men saw Hux as something skinny, young, attractive, and exotically coloured. These men backed off first, when they found a few of their likeminded comrades plagued with accidental injuries and deaths after an afternoon of fleeting fun.

These ones were easy to deal with. And they were not worth Hux’s time. These base and lust addled fools were of no true threat to Hux, once the ex-General had managed to find some of his footing again. They were of no use to Hux either.

**

Some of the men hated Hux. They hated his act of careless mass murder, they hated his position of perceived privilege and rank, they hated his cold, unflinching gaze.

Some of the men idolized Hux. They idolized his act of decisive military action, they idolized his old fallen rank, they idolized his pale, aristocratic face.

Hux avoided and picked off the former when he could, and used the latter to their full potentials as both muscle and human shields. But alas, people who easily fell to the worship of idols were weak of mind and weak of will, and none of them were strong enough to help him fend off all unwanted advances (especially as some of them were the ones making these advances, and some of the advances came from prison guards), or useful enough to be counted on as true allies. And Hux, resourceful as he was, was only one man. 

And despite his pride, his distaste, Hux opened his mouth and spread his legs both willingly and unwillingly again, just like in his hated early Academy years. For what was pride, and how little distaste really mattered, when compared to survival and the continuation of his life?

(He was only one man for now. He was only one boy at the start of his Academy years as well. That had changed soon enough.)

****⍟****


	3. The Stormtrooper

** **Day 4** **

Ben Solo noticed there were no Stormtroopers in helmets anymore. They showed their many different faces openly, and called one another by names despite still retaining their serial numbers.

Ben Solo would have tried to talk to them, except despite the casualness and ease inspired by their newfound small freedoms, the Stormtroopers still remembered and feared Kylo Ren.

****⍟****

 

** **The Stormtrooper** **

Hux had always thought of the Stormtroopers as valuable but expendable instruments and useful commodities. He had thought that, until one rogue Trooper had ruined it all.

Hux had never cared for the human faces under those helmets, until he came face to naked face with one. Hux was not a General, and FN-3022 was no longer a soldier. But the ex-Trooper was well-trained, loyal, the living proof that Hux’s father’s program mostly worked.

The man (for he was a man, with olive skin and a broad face, and an off sense of black humor) became a very useful tool for Hux.

When FN-3022 (Fred) was shipped off to another facility, one with an experimental program to deprogram captured Stormtroopers, Hux felt a little sorry for himself.

The program did not work well. It was more of a feel-good money grab from the New Republic governments by a reformed ex-Imperial industrialist (traitor!) than any real humanitarian effort. The whole program was exposed for organ and blood harvesting, and was quickly shut down (Hux never did find out in which chest FN-3022’s heart now beat).

****⍟****


	4. Tasu Leech

** **Day 5** **

On the fifth day, Hux invited Ben to meet his many allies from many different walks of life.

“These various gangs with their various interests? They held no loyalty toward the First Order even before its defeat. Why would any of them follow you now with so little funding? What could they gain from this other than the New Republic’s ire? They couldn’t possibly be doing this for the sake of fulfilling some higher purpose or loftier ideal!” Ben asked, waving a hand at the many differently uniformed and just as many not uniformed at all figures scurrying back and forth below.

“Well Lord Ren, why don’t you go tell that to Kanjiklub, and see what they have to say to that?” Hux smirked.

****⍟****

 

** **Tasu Leech** **

Hux’s dealings with Kanjiklub were somewhat limited in his time as a General. He had managed to get many discounts on hunting down Hutts who had disappointed or offended the First Order. But he also had to learn yet another native language so very unlike the Basic tongue.

He was somewhat surprised to see the leader (former leader now, just like how Hux was a former General) of Kanjiklub in the Pit, with a following of other incarcerated Kanjiklubbers closely behind him.

**

Tasu Leech had always struck Hux as a stoic man, bent on revenge against the Hutt, focused on the running of his gang, and dismissive of soft Basic-speakers much like Hux himself. But even a stoic man must has his lusts, and Tasu Leech invited Hux quite formally to join him in his cell for the evening.

As it did not look to be an invitation to be refused, and Hux had counted twelve Kanjiklubbers and eight other riff ruffs scenting around his person, he accepted the invitation most gracefully in the language spoken by the human sons and daughters of Nar Kanji.

Despite the limited dealings, Hux still remembered Tasu Leech as an effective leader and capable agent. The man and his little gang would make very suitable long-term allies now. Better make an effort.

**

Thankfully the sons of Nar Kanji did not share (neither did their fire and spice like daughters), and Hux only had to contend with Tasu Leech himself. The man was as stoic in bed as he was out, and it made for a very uneventful evening. Part of Hux was relieved. Another part was bored. 

The bored part quickly became interested however, when Tasu Leech proved to be a talker rather a snoozer after coital activities. And the man talked of grievances and politics. After the daily propaganda Hux was forced to sit through with other inmates on the legitimacy and integrity of the New Republic, Tasu Leech and his brusque speech and direct views were a breath of fresh air.

And Hux, well Hux was also full of grievances, and he was a man of politics, ever since his father had brought him to his first social function at the tender age of three and a half.

Together the pair struck up a most lively conversation on the duplicity of Han Solo, on how the smuggler had cost them each good subordinates and vast investments, on the ineffectiveness of the New Republic, on the First Order’s ongoing mandate to chase out the Hutt slaver threat, and how unfortunate it was, that this most noble and urgent goal was no longer feasible, with the First Order in the less than optimal condition (aka gone) it was in now, all thanks to the blind and deaf New Republic, and the self-appointed heroes of the Resistance.

And what do all people want, if not some safety and stability? If not some order and peace? Even criminals needed a functional economy to profit. Even felons had families, had friends, needed to eat, to sleep, to not live in trepidation of being whisked away in the night by slavers, to not be at the complete mercy and whims of an unstable and inept government.

**

How fortunate, that Tasu Leech had seen fit to take the former General under his protection as a respected equal.

How unfortunate, that the whole mini Kanjiklub gang was sent to isolation for a group fight with adamant and confrontational Basic speakers.

****⍟****


	5. The Knight

** **Day 8** **

Ben Solo thought about stealing a shuttle and running away. Hux had allowed him a great deal of freedom of movement. It would be wrong to not take advantage of such hospitality.

But when Ben got past four different sets of guards with mind tricks and turned a corner, he saw none but one of the Knight trainees waiting for him, silent and dark behind mask and black cowl.

“Hail Lord Master Ren,” the Knight trainee gave a slight bow.

“No, I am Ben Solo now. Your Master Ren is no more.”

“But why would Master Ren be no more? Master Ren smells like Master Ren, sounds like Master Ren, and looks mostly like Master Ren. And above all Master Ren feels like Master Ren, so strong and so familiar, so sweetly Dark, here in the Force. We are sure Master Ren is indeed Lord Master Ren himself.” the Knight trainee asked in puzzlement and took off their helmet.

Ben Solo looked into the trainee’s strange watery stare. What was this one’s name again? Kylo Ren had barely paid the trainees any attention at all.

“Oh, since we are the last devotees in the practice of Ren now, we took it upon ourselves to name ourselves Nama Ren. But since Hux calls us Turandot when he is pleased with us, we suppose Lord Ren could keep on calling us Turandot too. All others who do so must be strangled,” the alien creature said with a happy smile.

****⍟****

 

** **The Knight** **

With the protection of Tasu Leech and Kanjiklub temporarily gone, the vultures circled Hux again. And all it took for them to strike was a moment of lapsed judgement and exhaustion on Hux’s part.

Hux felt his knees chafe on the hard ferroconcrete, swallowed back a mouthful of blood-mixed saliva, and endured as another man climbed atop him, gripped his neck in a large clammy hand, and forced his head down to the ground. This was getting old. And the one with the worst personal hygiene was definitely getting an improvised something sharp in the eye first, never mind that he was also a prison guard (hired from a private security firm, blamed for all mishaps and breach of regulation, so that the government may save money and wash their hands of accidents and misconducts).

Suddenly the heavy weight on top of Hux disappeared. The supply storage was filled with panicked and strangled yells and the sound of unlucky bodies hitting walls and ceiling hard and fast, and lucky bodies fleeing the scene with haste. From his position on the floor, Hux saw shadows of tentacles expand and whip around the room.

A dark presence, at once faintly familiar and not familiar at all, leaned down over Hux’s still kneeling form. It hissed in a wispy voice next to Hux’s ear.

“Hello red General, Lord Master Ren kept you all for himself for so long. Now it is time for us to get a little taste.”

Well, this is definitely new, Hux thought, as tentacles wrapped around him in a slithering embrace.

**

A little taste turned into many little tastes (with much slobber). The creature said they enjoyed Hux’s clever hands, repressed rage, and apathetic approach to murder.

Hux gritted his teeth as a slim tentacle slithered all the way up his urethra. He had experienced soundings before, under the hands of a fleet commander back in the days, then again later with a peer. But he had never been sounded by something so obviously inquisitive and alive (getting sounded by the Force via Kylo Ren did not feel quite the same. No texture, for one). Hux had also came, explosively hard, the hardest really, ever since he was thrown into this hellhole.

And unlike many of the men, this monster was not purposefully violent, did not understand the concept of degradation, and had obviously deemed Hux too good a toy to be carelessly broken. It was, in a word, playful.

(The creature also enjoyed back pettings and tummy rubs. No one had dared rub and pet them before.)

**

Tasu Leech respected Hux. But the man also had a strong self-preservation instinct. Some forces were simply not to be contended with.

The other inmates and the few guards also backed off. Even with a Force suppressing collar, the creature who referred to itself as themselves and referred to themselves as Knight of Ren trainee, Nama Ren, was physically stronger than most incarcerated species by far, could still easily manually strangle and pull apart multiple men at once without the Force, possessed both a mercurial mood and unusual temperament, and had a very nonstandard sense of morality. Any day now, any day now and the monster would surely tear Hux apart. Do you not hear his blood-curdling screams as the monster availed itself to him? (Kylo used to complain about Hux’s bedroom volume. Sounds like we are killing a pig in here, seriously now Hux. Hux simply snorted and pointed out just how very unattractive Ren’s own yodelings and yappings were.)

The chief warden was satisfied. He reviewed at leisure again the reports of General Starkiller’s predicament as prison bitch to hardened criminals, notorious gangs, and a terrifying inhuman monster from his comfortable home on a summer planet far away from the Pit, counted the credits collected from vengeful donors from both the private and public sectors, and patted himself on the back for a job well-done.

**

Hux learned Nama Ren had no birth name, as they were lost (taken?) from their home before they could be named.

The earliest memory they had was of a cramped square of water with fake rocks and decorative plants encased in glass. People stood on the outside and were loud and curious and amused. Some rapped on the glass. The people seemed to like them. So when they finally copied those people’s form and broke the glass in order to interact with them directly, they were so confused on why the people who were smiling just moments before all screamed and fled. When different looking people stormed in to shoot at Nama Ren, they decided to run as well.

After that, Nama Ren travelled. A wise human in a worn brown robe once travelled with Nama Ren for a while, and gave Nama Ren the name ‘Turandot’, the name of a proud and powerful Princess of a magical kingdom bygone. He had hoped they would learn mercy and love, as their namesake had long ago. Nama Ren had wished to travel with the human more, to hear his stories and learn about the Force. But the human abandoned them (Luke was only away for half an hour. When he came back to the camp, the little alien girl (?) was gone. The entire camp was filled with the stench of the Dark).

And Nama Ren found out they were not a Princess or Prince but the strangest of beasts, and everyone else was all too glad to remind them so.

Hux ran his hand lightly through Nama Ren’s sensitive reproductive ciliates, and told them about the story of a messiah who became a monster, and a Prince who did not act like a prince at all.

**

Tasu Leech and his gang eventually got used to having a Knight trainee join them for lunch in the cafeteria.

They would greet, sit, and Tasu Leech would give anything with dairy products to Hux, and Hux would give anything that remotely resembled fish to Nama Ren, and the tentacled monster would eat it all, and grab whatever they took an interest in from other people’s tables to gobble down, or on the occasions when they remembered, to gift to Hux and more rarely, Tasu Leech and his men.

Ah, the galaxy was a strange place. And Hux was indeed a fearsome and resourceful man, a worthy ally who had rightfully earned all his titles and accolades at such a young age, to tame a beast such as this.

**

“Hux, Hux, why are you not afraid of me?”

“Dear Turandot, I used to live on the same ship and base with your Master Kylo Ren. Comparatively you are much mellower company.”

“Mhhhmm…” Nama Ren hummed and flopped out all of their tentacles as Hux scratched the back of their neck.

**

The galaxy was indeed a strange place, Hux thought as he tried to find a more comfortable position squeezed onto the same narrow bunk with the Knight trainee. Had anyone told Hux that he would one day be kept by a non-human and be its keeper in return, he would have scoffed at the ridiculous notion. But here he was, finding a strange comradery with a dangerous and inhuman alien.

In sleep Nama Ren was still and quiet, all their tentacles retracted to mysterious places and hidden from view. Hux supposed some could be fooled into thinking the deadly creature a young androgynous woman (?), if this was the only visage they saw. How misleading, this waiflike shape with its round face, small button nose, and clumps of kelp like dark hair. And some could be fooled into thinking this was a primitive beast, with its simple speech, direct mannerisms, and casual brutality. But Hux recognized a keen intellect when he saw one. Turandot was as shrewd as their namesake (Hux remembered a different legend, of a Princess cold and calculating and cruel on the throne of a harsh but powerful kingdom, who gave nothing and got away with everything), albeit they possessed a less than clear understanding of the ills and particularities that plagued humans and many other similar sentient beings. Well why would they bother to learn about the strange social norms of lesser creatures anyway, when Turandot was the predator, and the rest clearly prey?

But just like the octopus which they so resembled, Nama Ren was a natural master of disguise. And most people only saw what they wished to see, be it the exotic aquarium display, the lost young girl, or the wild and cruel monster. How ironic that Hux of all people had somehow gotten close enough to notice the wide-eyed child who was raised in unnatural captivity and never properly socialized.

Were all the Knights once abandoned, lost, and neglected children snatched up by Snoke? Hux had looked into Nama Ren’s large wet eyes, and was painfully reminded of another pair of very different yet very similar eyes. They held the same hunger and the same anger, with a touch of shared insanity. How fortunate for Hux then, that he knew exactly what to do to endear the owners of such eyes to himself (Ben Solo still left him in the end, a failure that had started off a string of cascading failures. But Turandot was a much simpler soul, who turned to Hux’s deliberately gentle hands and carefully-crafted soft words like a starving flower towards the sun).

(The chief warden was pleased to see the monster he had specifically released into the Pit served its functions.

The sub warden was a man who was both dispassionate about his job, and someone who wrote shoddy reports that were doctored to best justify good year-end bonuses.

Certain senators publicly praised and rewarded the chief warden for his dedication to the rehabilitation of criminal elements and the protection of the innocent public, for his great compassion and strong sense of responsibility.

The same senators saw the subjugation of General Starkiller by the strange alien caught at Snoke’s citadel as the greatest humiliation and torture to be inflicted upon a xenophobic, elitist Imperial spawn.)

****⍟****


	6. The Doctor

** **Day 5** **

Hux’s new flagship had a new chief medical officer, a slim man who sprouted an old Imperial hair-cut coupled with a thin mustache (the old chief medic was sucked into the vacuum of space during the Finalizer’s final moments). Although according to Hux’s off-hand remarks, the man was far more preoccupied with his long-term-care patient than the rest of his duties. Why had Hux appointed such a man to this important position?

The medic was skillful and meticulous in extracting the EMP deactivated tracker embedded into Ben’s back though, and gave many suggestions on what Ben could do to help reduce scarring, as if he would be worried about such a minor scar on his back, when there was a large gash right across his face.

Hux watched the entire procedure through the operation room’s one-way glass from a visitor’s chair.

**

The chief medical officer walked Hux over the brain scans.

“You are sure there are no tampering, no anomalies of any kind?” Hux asked.

“I am afraid so. If there were, they are beyond what the modern science of us mortal men could detect. Seeing how our other Force user could not sense anything amiss either, I think, as much as it pains me to say this to you, Hux, that it is perhaps, perhaps time for you to face reality, General. The man may have simply had a change of heart.”

Hux looked at the scans again and shook his head, “We will continue to keep the subject under close observation for now. Parsing the intricacies of the human mind was never Nama Ren’s forte. They could have easily missed something. And changed hearts could be easily changed again, given the right conditions.”

****⍟****

 

** **The Doctor** **

The assistant medical officer had introduced himself as Doctor Gilad Pellaeon during one of Hux’s many visits to the med bay in his earlier days at the Pit.

This particular meeting with the Doctor was unique though, in that Hux was not carried, dragged, or wheeled into the medical wing. He walked in on his own two feet, in perfectly good health (as good as one could be, under these circumstances. The slight limp was nothing really). And there was good Doctor Pellaeon, who waved Hux into his office and wringed his hands, looking both a little anticipatory and a little nervous.

“You called for me Doctor? A bit early for the rumored inmates’ yearly physical examinations, unless I am mistaken? Is there something you wanted to talk to me about as a physician to his patient?” Hux stood before the single small office desk.

Doctor Pellaeon pushed up his thin glasses, stroked his thin mustache, and smiled an entirely unconvincing thin smile, “Ah yes, Hux. You see, I’ve been observing you, and I have grown to admire your fortitude and sympathize with you plight. I could help you.” 

Hux’s own smile appeared both genuine and self-deprecating, “You could help me, if I helped you in return?”

The Doctor nodded, the gleam in his eyes slightly overenthusiastic.

**

“Wait, is this a genuine artefact, or a very fine replica?” Hux looked at what the Doctor had laid out for him, and whipped around to ask.

“Why thank you, I’ve made that one myself. Good with the needles you know. But I do have the genuine article. Here.” So saying, Doctor Pellaeon opened his closet and keyed in his passcode on the keypad embedded into the wall. A sliding door hissed open in the back of the closet, and behind it hung a white Imperial officer’s uniform, pristinely kept behind glass, back lit by soft blue light, enshrined in the wall length safe.

“A genuine Imperial Grand Admiral’s uniform!” Hux’s eyes widened.

“A family heirloom passed to me by my dearly departed uncle,” the Doctor looked at the uniform reverently.

Hux gave the Doctor another long look. How unexpected. “Why Dr. Pellaeon, isn’t this a bit unorthodox? And aren’t you the slightest bit apprehensive that a prisoner might run off to the sub warden with stories of your unique heirloom?”

Doctor Pellaeon closed the wall safe door and bent down to retrieve another article of clothing from his unlocked drawers. “Oh they already know. Not of that one, but of my unusual hmm, hobby, in general. Why do you think I got stationed here in the first place? They couldn’t pin me with an actual charge, so… And I’ve never let another prisoner see the original. I’ve never invited another prisoner back here, in fact. You are the very first, General, and likely would be the very last as well. Why General Hux you are a true military man, an heir to the Imperial will. You must at least understand some of my passions? And reporting on me would be of no net benefit to you. As an intelligent man, you must have also realized, perhaps even before the conclusion of your unusually speedy trial, that the masters of this facility will not be changing their policies in regards to you no matter how well-behaved you are. And should you disadvantage me, the only person here of any official capacity who might also be a rare Imperial sympathizer, you would severely disadvantage yourself as well. I may not be a genius strategist like you, Hux, but I am no fool.”

“I see. Sorry to hear about your assignment. An unjust punishment for a harmless personal hobby, and a terrible waste of a talented medical professional such as yourself. Also very astute and correct observations, Doctor. I’ve always known you to be a highly intelligent man,” so said the fox to the weasel. 

Hux turned and gestured at the replica uniform with a simple question, “So?”

The Doctor beamed at Hux, “So, yes, please do put on what I have laid out for you, cape, gloves, boots and all. Now excuse me while I get into my uniform.” So saying, Doctor Pellaeon retreated into his personal refresher.

**

“You want me to, what, berate you?” Hux squinted at the Doctor, who was kneeling on the ground, dressed in what appeared to be a very good imitation of an Imperial Medical Corps chief medical officer uniform.

“Yes please General. For my failures at remaining true to the Empire. For my family’s failure at not properly serving you.”

“Any particular Imperial Grand Admiral you have in mind?”

“…no. No, their memories are not to be sullied by my personal peculiarities. Perhaps you could be, ah, Grand Admiral Hux? And maybe you could step on me a little? Nowhere visible of course. And no slapping or hair pulling please.”

“Well then, CMO Pellaeon, do you have any explanations for the failures detailed in your latest report?” Hux’s tone completely changed as he took two quick marching steps toward the Doctor, accompanied by a dramatic swish of his borrowed white cape and nothing but cold professionalism on his face.

Gilad Pellaeon looked up at the vision in white with fanatical fever in his eyes and trembled.

**

When Hux finally kicked the good Doctor in the side with a polished boot, Gilad Pellaeon doubled over and came in his pants.

**

The semi-regular sessions (Hux couldn’t very well pull off the act while still hooked up to an IV now could he?) became regular bi-weekly sessions after Hux found an ally in Tasu Leech. The two ex-Imperial scions enacted various scenarios (Well your Tarkin is awfully in character, General, said the Doctor. Ah let’s just say I’ve had some practice with a colleague in the past, said the inmate as he remembered the ridiculous Darth Vader get-up a certain someone had donned) fully clothed in a fine variety of uniforms but never out of them, used the small refresher in turn to clean up, and had tea and biscuits afterwards.

Hux sipped on the cheap Sapir Tea brewed with filtered tap water, and lent an ear to one Doctor Gilad Pellaeon’s personal obsession with the Empire and his pathetic life story. He shared his own input occasionally, about the Academy, the aesthetics of the First Order and the Empire, and the military history that he had so passionately studied.

**

“My parents bowed to the New Republic and were pardoned. But my uncle was the Captain of an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, and he could not forget the Empire. He was jailed, forced to write letters of repentance used as Republic propaganda, released to permanent house arrest, and died in permanent house arrest a broken man.”

“All my parents ever did was grovel at the feet of the New Republic, yet all of their prostration and groveling were not enough. To this day they are still periodically checked on for possible dissent, while I am stuck here, with no hope for advancement, and none of my simple ambitions met,” Gilad Pellaeon closed his eyes in weariness, and knocked back another tumbler of scotch.

Hux nursed his drink while sitting in the one other cheap plastic chair the Doctor owned, “Well, Doctor Pellaeon, my father struck out hoping to restore the Empire instead of surrendering, yet here I am, stuck in the Pit just like you, with the additional bonus of being on the wrong side of a cell door. All the while out there the New Republic let the worlds under their charge fall freely to disorder, as they abuse the children of those who had fallen on the wrong side of a war. My blood would boil were I a more passionate man. But here I sit, wallowing in my failures, with none of my simple ambitions met.”

So the mass murderer and the coward who admired his methods sat and drank, both thinking themselves meant for greater things.

**

The Doctor, despite his limited resources, had eventually managed with a combination of veiled threats, promised bribes, and unfavourable medical reports (the patient would likely expire at current pace, in direct contradiction with our standing orders) to place Hux into the much envied kitchen duty roster. Not the easiest or lightest labour, but a great improvement over his old sanitation duties.

**

When all of the Pit knew about Hux’s new status as a monster’s plaything, the good doctor had pulled Hux aside into his office, shoved him into a thin paper gown, and checked over every inch of him, drawing in sharp breaths at the rows of red circles left by alien suckers and lines marked by whip-like limbs, but was left both puzzled and relieved at not finding any serious injuries. There were no broken bones, no deep lacerations, and not even severe bruising. Hux thanked the doctor for his concerns, and gladly took the offered vitamin supplements. He had also off-handedly asked what sort of supplements one might feed to an octopus.

**

When Nama Ren invited themselves into the private quarters of Gilad Pellaeon, looking for Hux, they immediately focused their attention on the closest, or more accurately, on the safe behind it.

Ash and blood, the creature hissed. To their eyes, the space where the old uniform hung was anything but pristine white.

(Nama Ren ruined the active session completely. But the alien sat still, drank Sapir Tea, and munched quietly on biscuits, quite captivated, when the two humans, one mortified and the other indifferent, changed back into their normal garbs and settled down to talk about Imperial things.)

****⍟****


	7. The Chip

** **Day 11** **

Today’s visitor was Nama Ren instead of Hux.

Now that he’s had a closer look, Ben noticed the Knight trainee somehow appeared healthier, happier (?), more powerful (?) than any of the trainees had ever done while under the tutelage of Snoke, and they were not wearing their helmet or Knight uniform. Instead they were in a bright yellow floral robe (dress?) and little white bantha-hide boots, and had small animal bones (Ben hoped those were animal bones) pinned in their elaborately braided hair (Tasu Leech’s niece was both a decent self-taught aquatic veterinarian and a very artistic lady).

“You should be happy that Hux went through all this trouble just for you, Lord Master. You should join us again, and together we could rebuild the Knights of Ren with Hux!” Nama Ren chirped at Ben.

Ben Solo did not look impressed.

Nama Ren wiggled and twined their tentacles in a strange version of poking ones index fingers together and said, “Well, if you don’t want to, we are just as happy to share Hux with one less person. One less person.”

Kylo Ren bristled.

****⍟****

 

** **The Chip** **

Nama Ren turned and turned and turned in their assigned bunk, waking Hux from his light sleep on the spare bunk with their unhappy clicking. 

It hurts. It hurts so much. The Knight trainee whined, rubbing at their neck, where the Force suppressor was embedded, soldered into flesh and attached by wires to the soft vertebrae.

Was it the old wound? The chafe? The tightened skin around the device, dear Turandot? Did something come loose inside your neck?

But no, it was the near absence of the Force.

**

Nama Ren twirled and twirled and twirled around on the cell floor, distracting Hux from his light reading with their happy clicking.

Well, I may be a military man by family tradition and a politician by necessity, but I am an engineer by trade and choice, dear Turandot. It was not an easy feat with so few tools at hand, but dampening the effects of the main inhibitor chip in your Force suppressor is not yet a task beyond my meager skills. But let us keep this between us, our little secret?

Secret just like your stash of Sapir Tea, Hux?

A bit more secret than that, considering Tasu Leech, the counterfeiter next door, the assassin two cells over, and the smuggler across the hall have already drank over half of my stock.

Ah a secret secret then!

****⍟****


	8. The Salt Water Pool

** **Day 289** **

Ben Solo rubbed his eyes, blinked, and looked again. Nope, the tank was still there, a gigantic monstrosity that had taken up two entire rooms. It was filled with fluid, supplied by twenty industrial strength silent air pumps, lined with fine sand and colourful rock formations at the bottom, and decorated with exotic aquatic plants. Many globular and tentacled creatures were swimming quite happily in it. Occasionally one of them would pounce on a tank-mate and gobble it up as a snack, leaving not even a single tentacle behind in its ravenous feasting.

“What are these? Are you raising animals on your flagship?” Ben asked Hux, incredulous. The favoured mouser cat was ridiculous enough (the cat was lost on Starkiller Base). Now this?

“Oh, these. These are the glochidia of Turandot. Well technically they are also mine, the Grand Admiral, the R&D director, the CMO, and two other ship commanders’. Initially we had thought to take stock from Stormtroopers, to provide greater numbers and wider genetic diversity, but Turandot would have none of it. They wanted only the best genetic material,” Hux gestured at the wiggly creatures (Unfortunate, that the original plan of breeding more humanlike super soldiers en masse was vehemently rejected by Nama Ren with much flailing. But Hux was willing to settle for quality over quantity).

Ben looked a little green. “Is this what Nama Ren meant by ‘rebuilding the Knights of Ren with Hux’??? To literally breed more Force users!? Did Nama Ren pick you, or did you volunteer yourself Hux? Also Nama Ren and the Grand Admiral, how? Is there something between you, that upstart R&D engineer, the sniveling doctor, the ship commanders, and the Grand Admiral too?? The Grand Admiral is barely lucid and confined to a wheelchair. He is more than twice your age!”

“Oh Ren, don’t be ridiculous. I have a fine working relationship with all my officers and ship commanders, and have nothing but the utmost professional admiration for the Grand Admiral. And shouldn’t you know more about your fellow Knight? These are birthed in egg clusters and externally inseminated. They will cannibalize one another until the strongest ones emerge as juveniles and take bipedal form. We will name them and provide them with standard education by that time. There is also an incubation tank on medical deck four with three viable fetuses created from Turandot’s sperm and human eggs donated by Phasma, Lieutenant General Tarkin, and Tasu Leech’s youngest sister-in-law.” Hux then turned and leveled a meaningful look at Ben.

“Turandot was also considering your contributions as a donor, by the way.”

Ben had never power-walked away so fast in his life (Kylo Ren had. Despite his skinny frame, Hux had shapely long legs and little patience for time lost on something as nonproductive as getting from point A to point B on legs. Kylo Ren was also presently feeling a little jealous and a little enraged).

****⍟****

 

** **The Salt Water Pool** **

“Wha, what? I, I, I didn’t do anything to h, hu, Hux. I meant with Hux! I didn’t do anything with Hux! Why are you two here?” The inmate of cell E203 stuttered as he froze in fear, his wide wild eyes captivated by Nama Ren’s wavering tentacles the way a deer might be captivated by incoming speeder lights.

Hux simply gave the man a most condescending look. As if he’d ever let such a weak bottom feeder lay even half a finger on himself. “Pack your things and get out. We are appropriating your cell for higher purposes.”

“But where will I move to?” the man mewed most pathetically.

Nama Ren waved their tentacles at the inmate in a decidedly unfriendly manner.

The speed with which the man had scampered made records that day.

**

Nama Ren clicked happily at Hux from their new salt water pool.

In truth, it was a poor substitution. The salt was scrounged from the kitchens (and would have killed lesser mollusks than a Dark Force using one). The pool in question was just a cell with decidedly lower geology filled with buckets of water. It was nowhere near a real salt water pool with all the proper minerals and size suitable enough to fit Nama Ren’s other form, and could not even be counted as a poor substitution for the vast oceans from which the trainee Knight’s species must have evolved from.

Hux gave Nama Ren a small smile, the sort one might give to tiny children and cute animals, all the more strange to see on the face of a suspected sociopath and mass murderer, directed at another possible sociopath and eldritch abomination.

Nama Ren invited Hux to join them in the pool, and was only slightly disappointed when Hux politely declined and quoted his preference for drier climes.

Nama Ren was not disappointed later, when they wiggled all over Hux and tangled their tentacles in a decidedly playful manner with Hux’s own skinny limbs in the drier climes of Hux’s cell.

**

The original occupant of E203 happily relocated to E303, recently emptied after the former owner was accused of murdering the chief medical officer (the chief medical officer performed a surprise physical examination on Hux, and questioned why he did not have more wounds and bruises as expected of the prison bitch of a space monster and a criminal gang. Had that Imperial-born bastard Pellaeon been doctoring all of his reports?) and found guilty.

With no one else left to step up to the plate, and no one who wanted to transfer to the pit that was well, the Pit, Doctor Pellaeon was promoted to chief medical officer.

**

The Doctor was so happy about his promotion, that he obtained a list of names, arrival and departure schedules, and residence locations of all the inmates of the Pit for Hux (Hux had joking told Nama Ren that it was his naughty and nice list. The archaic human culture reference had flown right over the space-octopus’ head).

The Doctor was so happy in fact, that he also managed to get Hux transferred to a cell in the west wing, right near the cell blocks soon to be occupied by the recently arrested members of the Guavian Death Gang.

Neither was an easy feat for a medical staff. Hux thought the man was a fine resource wasted swearing the oath of healing and care.

(Nama Ren was a bit put out about having to trek from the west wing to the east wing for their salt pool soak now, but Hux was much more amusing than the pool.)

****⍟****


	9. Bala-Tik

** **Day 17** **

“What? Why such surprise at the identity of my second cousin? Did you think my father married my mother for money, politics, influence? No Ren. He married her out of desperation, held at blaster point by the bride herself.”

“It’s Ben, Ben Solo, not Ren. And really Hux, seriously, the Guavian Death Gang?”

“A family business really. Where did you think Bala-Tik had gotten my personal com info from?”

“Yet you say you promote order!”

“I do promote order. The Guavian Death Gang is very organized and orderly. Besides, even criminal organizations require a certain amount of stability to thrive. As for the gang itself, it has been actively trying to move towards more legitimate businesses as a whole for a while now, Lord Ren. In fact, my late mother had been working tirelessly in aim of this goal ever since she walked out on my father. A difficult feat, considering the turbulent conditions we had to eke out a living under. Now Lord Ren, don’t you have some meditation to do, instead of questioning my familial relations?”

**

Ben sulked at Hux’s dismissal. Meditation had not been helpful at all lately. 

Going through the exercises used to bring him peace, help him better feel empathy and remorse for all the people he’d hurt, help him repent. But then he was moved from the Resistance base to a New Republic facility despite Leia’s protests. Then Luke fell right before Rey felled Snoke. Then one of the rehab staff had tried to slip him something extra in his morning medications. Then the news of Hux’s arrest and blazing fast trial came, but Ben was never allowed any details. For his own good they said. Don’t want to agitate the patient now they said. Then it was just days after the exact same days, going through the motions of therapy and penance, with an occasional visit from his mother, who had looked both old and sad.

Meditation became less and less effective, until one day Ben woke up, and found it just another part of the dull routine. And as Ben dredged up memories of his victims, of their panic and pain, of the billions dead screaming their last on Hosnian Prime, he felt less and less sorry for them, and more and more sorry for himself.

His uncle had promised, to mother, to Rey, to the New Republic council and the Resistance high command that he will help Ben Solo feel empathy and remorse for his past wrongs and reconnect with the Light. His uncle must have lied. After all, did Luke not admit openly that his own Jedi training was also incomplete?

And now on top of it all there were Hux and his crew. Kylo, Ren, Lord Ren, they called him despite his protests. They were not helping at all.

But I am Ben Solo. I am Ben Solo. I am Ben Solo.

But are you Ben Solo? A voice asked in Ben’s head, sounding suspiciously like himself.

**

Hux sipped his tea, dark and bitter just the way he liked it, and glanced at the surveillance feed of Kylo Ren moping about in bed, deep into a basket of seasoned bread sticks instead of deep into meditation (Hux shuddered at the thought of crumbs amongst the sheets). At least in his appetite, Ren was exactly as Hux remembered. His ignorance with all things political and interpersonal too was comfortingly familiar. But then again, Hux could not fairly blame Ren for his lack of knowledge about Hux’s own pedigree, for very few people in the galaxy actually knew of Hux’s other notorious family.

When the majority thought of Lady Hux, if they thought of her at all, they pictured a timid and demure flower with bleached golden hair, Commandant Hux’s second wife, instead of the firebrand misadventure from his youth.

****⍟****

 

** **Bala-Tik** **

Nama Ren was confused when Hux went to embrace the skinny, limping, yet dangerous smelling human with the strong accent. They were more confused, when Hux’s own accent shifted to resemble the man’s.

Tasu Leech was wary when he saw members of the Guavian Death Gang approach him and his during a shared break. Their ill-fated alliance was brief, and their respective groups occasionally came into direct competition for business. The Gang was also elusive, rarely venturing out of their prison wing since their arrival at the Pit one and a half week ago. Their prosthetics and cybernetics, downgraded shortly after their arrest, were a hindrance instead of a boon. But when he spotted Hux in their company, strutting with his usual confidence and an unusually relaxed ease, he realized that the one-time alliance might be up for an unexpected and prolonged renewal.

**

“Told ya you should have ditched your old man to join us. Look where trying to please that stuck-up old coot has gotten you, cousin.”

“Well consider how you are also in here with me now, it doesn’t say much about either one of our lifestyles and choices.”

“Hey, I was just unlucky, is all.”

“As was I. But I do wish you had actually managed to shoot Han Solo while you’ve got him in your sights. Who knew one man was capable of causing so much damage, so much chaos.”

“I wish I’d never paid him it’s what I wish. Nearly lost me my other leg.”

The two men, distant cousins on their mothers’ side, sharing no similar features save for their wiry frames, sighed and knocked back their contraband drinks. Of all their vast extended families, how strange that they, who had never seen eye-to-eye in each their chosen careers (chosen by their fathers, children forced into old legacies), were the only blood-kins left. All the rest had fallen one by one, to war and strife and poverty, and the violence of their professions, the uncertainties of the Outer Rims.

**

Nama Ren saw one of the Guavian Death Gang members give Hux a hand job in the showers.

They wanted to try the same. They had never used their opposable thumbed hands for such a thing yet!

Hux had said yes, and flushed his usual pretty blotchy pink in Nama Ren’s hands. Nama Ren had gotten so excited, that they whipped out their tentacles again.

Other inmates stepped into the showers, took one look at the mass of wavering tentacles (Hux could not even be seen wrapped up in all that), and stepped right out.

(Nama Ren concluded that hands were overrated. Bala-Tik swore he’s got rathtar related flashbacks. Hux had politely requested dear Turandot to please restrict the number and size of their tentacles indoors.)

**

“Why do you and Bala-Tik treat each other all special?” Asked Nama Ren one evening, from their salt pool.

“Because we are family. But Turandot is special to me also,” Hux answered from his three legged stool. Special and useful to the point that they were almost a friend. But Turandot needn’t know that.

“What is family?”

“People who are related to one another by blood and circumstance. People who share genetics.”

“So like when we inject our genetic code rich fluids into Hux? And when Hux splashes us in return? Does this make us family?” Nama Ren extended a tentacle and waved it at Hux.

“Ah… It doesn’t quite work that way, Turandot.”

“We want to have family too. There are so many of you humans, but only one of us…” Ah but Nama Ren shouldn’t be so greedy. They already got friends, something they’ve never had before.

“Well, maybe if one day we could all get out of this pit, we can figure something out, and give Turandot a family?” Hux suggested gently. It would be a waste to not somehow replicate this super soldier.

Nama Ren hummed happily. They hadn’t minded the Pit before. It was bigger than the glass tank, the people here nicer than the people with Snoke, and Hux told better stories than the only other man who had ever sat down and talked to them, with endings that made so much more sense (of course the stronger, shrewder, and more aggressive organisms would overpower and rule over/eat the weaker ones. Turandot had been so puzzled when the brown-robed wise man talked of the sure triumph of the meek and pure-hearted. Turandot had never seen that happen in their short confusing life. Such triumphs were often short-lived, with the meek and pure becoming either defeated or disenchanted and corrupt). But now, with the promise of family, Nama Ren suddenly felt motivated to get out of the Pit.

**

“Hey, if we ever get out of here, come with me and take over your mum’s old spot? You’d be great at it. And it is a much better gig than what you’d been running. The Republic turns a blind eye to us most of the time, and the Resistance doesn’t give much of a damn either. I mean your mum’s even managed to make quite a few planets pay taxes. Taxes, cousin! And I think there are at least three planets with temples worshiping her as a war god of some sort.”

“Taxes that they should have been paying the First Order, no doubt. And as attractive as the notion of being worshiped as the son of a god is, I believe the first condition to your offer is, if we ever get out of this hole in the ground. Now dear cousin Bala-Tik, how do you propose we achieve that particular goal?”

****⍟****


	10. The Adapted Daughters of Nar Kanji

** **Day 25** **

“How did you managed to get out of the Pit anyways?”

“By the slings and arrows of strange fortune of course, my dear Lord Ren.”

“… it’s Ben…”

“Do you wish to hear the tale or not?”

****⍟****

 

** **The Adapted Daughters of Nar Kanji** **

Cut off from the world, the Pit was a hell contained all by its own. Its resident inmates got no news, no visitors, no contact with the outside here.

And Hux, on the day of his sentencing, during his transport, and at his initial processing, was teased and mocked about the total annihilation of his ship, his fleets, his First Order to which he had devoted his thirty some years of life to. As far as he knew, the First Order was no more. And all of his men were either dead or otherwise in similar predicaments as himself (he had watched, powerless and helpless, as his beloved Finalizer, his home, went down in flames).

And Doctor Pellaeon, despite his relatively much greater freedom of movement, his more comfortable quarters, his supposed authority, his pittance of a salary that he rarely got the chance to spend, was just as trapped in the Pit as all the inmates. As the relative of a prominent ex-Imperial and a possible Imperial sympathizer under watch, he got no updates from his superiors, limited access to the holo-net, and the news he watched, on the rare occasions when he actually bothered to, were the same sanitized broadcasts as those meant for the general public. And the good Doctor had no one on the outside he wished to contact anymore, no friends or family, not after his dear uncle had passed away. His latest rumors regarding the First Order came from another misplaced Stormtrooper, FN-3450 (Greg), who had watched his commanding lieutenant general mobbed and lynched by angry locals after she staggered out of her escape pod.

Yet there was Tasu Leech, holding a finely made blanket sent by his loving wife.

Yes the inmates got no contact with the outside world here officially, but under the table, occasional letters and packages still snuck through, sent by the people who still cared enough to bribe the justice system’s overworked and underpaid lower tiered staff.

On the blanket were dyed patterns and threaded embroideries, expertly coloured, painstakingly stitched.

**

The youngest Kanjiklubber incarcerated at the Pit was released a while ago. An oversight of the system, to jail an under-aged boy in this adult high security prison, when he should have been sent to community service and pardoned due to the mild nature of his actual convicted crime (pickpocketing, but he was in the company of Tasu Leech during their arrest) and his youth (14). The initiative to review New Republic jails and correction facilities was started by one senator Leia Organa long ago. The initiative’s taskforce was greatly underfunded and understaffed, just like many other New Republic taskforces (the New Republic was still trying to find its footing amidst oversights, loopholes, pockets of great poverty and greater corruption, conflicting interests of equally legitimate parties, and powerful but self-invested companies and families. The galaxy was a big place, and the New Republic was far too young, far too young to deal with the baggage of the Old Republic and the legacies of the Empire). The taskforce, comprised of young, open-minded, and well-meaning civil servants, had only gotten to the Pit now. Many misplaced inmates jailed around the time of the taskforce’s conception were already dead or ruined. But this boy, oh this one they could save!

They had completely missed the memo marked Very Important, Must Read, buried in a mountain of other memos, which stated no prisoner from the Pit was to be released or transferred without partial memory altercations past a certain date.

That certain date was the date on which the New Republic judiciary branch had announced that General Starkiller, overcame with fear and humiliated by his fall from grace, had committed suicide to escape his just punishment and rehabilitation.

(There were a string of successful jailbreaks of high ranking First Order officers from various holding facilities in the past year, by a troop of tenacious bounty hunters and suspected First Order remnants, though none of these facilities had the high security measures of the Pit. 

After the first few such jailbreaks, there was also a brief debate on whether the judiciary department should assist Hux into a real suicide, in case the false news was not strong enough of a deterrent. And while they were at it, perhaps all the other prominent First Order war criminals interred in various correctional facilities should undergo assisted suicides as well.

Unfortunately on one hand, a disgruntled justice department clerk had leaked that particular meeting minute to several senators who were vocally against reinstating capital punishment for the New Republic. The senators were greatly horrified, and had threatened to go public with the information. The clerk was happily hired on by one of them as a much better paid staffer.

And equally unfortunately on the other hand, a few very rich and influential senators who cared not for the sanctity of all life, especially the lives of sociopathic scums like Hux, were far too reluctant to give up the significant boost in government funding for security system upgrades and private prison guard contracts, funding which their family businesses were more than happy to apply and bid for.)

**

Few knew how to read the written language of the humans of Nar Kanji, not due to difficulty (it was somewhat difficult), but due to lack of interest. Indeed, why would anyone bother to learn this unpopular and strange language from a backwater system, with its alien pictograms instead of the familiar letters and runes of Aurebesh or Outer Rim Basic?

So even fewer knew of the tradition of the humans of Nar Kanji, where their spice and fire daughters and earth and water mothers were trusted to be keepers of secrets and tales and traditions. Ancient characters, stylized and embellished, twisted into the forms of animals and plants, swords and starships, heroes and gods, the elements and the sun and moons, decorated their clothing, their potteries, their homes and every aspect of their lives, crafted by women ranging from the youngest of girls to the most seasoned masters. And this was how their histories and traditions had persisted and evolved despite their abduction, relocation, and enslavement by the hated Hutt, and how their resistance cells had talked to one another in secret, before they finally threw off their oppressors amidst the chaos of a Hutt gang war. Now they took their enslavers’ territories for their own, shared in uneasy peace with the native Jablogians (humans are aggressive and expansionistic animals, and the Jablogian greedy and dishonest, this peace won’t last).

Tasu Leech’s new blanket held a brand new story. It told of a wronged young man newly returned home, of his tales about a fiery haired man who was a mentor in the trade of engineering as well as a friend. It told of a certain ship’s captain, a nervous yet resolute man named Dopheld Mitaka (who had heard about these tales of friendship from a newly famous bounty hunter going by the call-sign of The Lioness, who had heard it while sitting next to the young man’s table at a bar), who had inquired most interestedly and urgently after his General’s current condition. They thought he was dead! Was the General still alive? Was he well? Was he healthy? Was he mistreated? Oh how he and the rest of the surviving staff of their beloved ship (their beloved ship was no more, but they had found three old Imperial Star Destroyers to call home, one led by Mitaka, the other under Unamo, and the last one by a surviving Tarkin) would do anything to get their equally beloved General back! The First Order was gone, the military was gone, and they were just lowly raiders and drifters now, with so little to offer. But they could at least provide a safe harbor for their General! They just wanted him safe from the Republic curs!

**

Tasu Leech’s wife opened a love letter addressed to her, and sighed at her husband’s poetic soul and romantic drawings, at his skill with the pen that was only slightly lesser than his skill with the sword.

She then sent a message through her sister’s husband’s younger cousin’s best friend, a traveling merchant (and seasoned informant of Kanjiklub), to deliver two messages meant for two very different destinations.

**

Mitaka cried for the first time since his escape vessel fled the Finalizer, as he hugged Millicent the Second to his chest. He was so glad the General made all the officers take those foreign language correspondence courses (If Hux had to suffer through boring yet necessary courses, then all must suffer along with him).

The skinny gray tabby pawed at her owner’s eye-patch and mewed.

**

Bala-Tik received a letter along with a care package from a certain late Lady’s old underlings, who talked of how much the Lady had missed her unnamed heir, and how much she had wanted her darling son to inherit her title (Dread Pirate Queen Robberta) and deeds (A medium sized privateer fleet and much booty), how they wanted to fulfil her wishes so that her fierce soul may rest in peace. The letter also talked of future care packages, and would young Bala-Tik like to have more extra clothing and shaving supplies shipped next time?

**

Hux felt had he been a different man, a better, kinder man, he would have been moved by the loyalty and regards of his subordinates (he was only doing his job in doing well by them) and family (not by blood, but by choice). But he was not, so he simply sat back and calculated.

Hux was not looking for safety. Hux was not looking for peace. Hux was looking to leave this planet behind and resurrect the First Order like a phoenix from its own ashes, to wash the worlds in its fire and light.

****⍟****


	11. Isolation

** **Day 34** **

Ben had known about the special long-term-care patient quite soon after his abduction (rescue) by Hux and crew. But he had not seen the rumored man until today.

Hux sat, in a cheap plastic chair with metal legs welded to the floor, sipping his Sapir tea.

Across from Hux, Doctor Pellaeon fretted over an old man in a state-of-the-art wheelchair. Then man had several IVs hooked into his skin-and-bones thin arm, a plush blanket over his knees, and a pillow supporting his head. The man’s skin was dry and wrinkled like so much parchment paper. His eyes were clouded and murky, their stare vacant, the stare of someone insensate to the world.

The skin was blue. The eyes were foggy red.

Just as Ben was going to ask why they were all here, sitting with an invalid old Chiss of all things, the patient drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

When they opened again, Ben stared into the most unnerving red eyes he had ever seen. Eyes that were alert and intelligent, piercing past all of Ben’s masks and pretenses, deconstructing and picking apart his soul to find it weak and wanting.

“So this is Darth Vader’s grandson then, the boy who could not decide whether he wanted to emulate the Sith or the Jedi?” the old Chiss did not sound impressed.

“Yes, Grand Admiral,” answered Hux, who had already put down his tea and snapped to attention.

“Tea, Grand Admiral?” asked Doctor Pellaeon, as he carefully raised a fine china cup up to his patient’s lips.

**

“Personally I believe most sentient creatures form attachments, develop bonds, become sentimental. It is natural, and a survival response at its core, for we are but the evolved form of codependent tribal animals. But that fickle Skywalker boy, truly? Someone who could not even find himself? Someone who had so readily cast your Order behind? I had thought you a more logical man than that, General Hux,” so said the old Chiss to the young human.

“Kylo Ren may have been brainwashed by the Jedi. Luke Skywalker had publically claimed that he was able to _aid_ Ren in feeling regret and remorse for his deeds, possibly affecting Ren’s already irrational and impulsive decision making and consequent actions through underhanded Force manipulations. Regardless Ren is one of the very few remaining adept Force users. Now with the Republic calling for his head and no surviving family members to campaign for his life, Ren’s options are very limited. There is a good chance that he could still be made into a powerful instrument to further our goals, Grand Admiral.” Blue eyes set on a pale face met red ones set on a blue face, but could not hold under the latter’s knowing gaze.

“My time left in this world is short, my brief lucid moments even shorter, and our goals are really in truth your future and ambitions, much more important to you than a dying old man. Do not lose sight of these goals, young General, even for the strongest and most cherished sentimentality.”

**

In the days before the First Order’s fall, and after a certain Master Knight had left for a mission and never came back again, Hux had browsed again and again through New Republic broadcasts and First Order intelligence reports tirelessly.

The man seen repenting on public broadcasts was not Kylo Ren. Could not have been Kylo Ren. No single person could have changed so drastically in mannerisms and belief in so short a time. And despite Hux’s various misgivings about the Knight, the General knew the man to be stubborn in his convictions and dedication to the Dark. Hux had seen firsthand Kylo Ren’s disdain for the corrupt New Republic, had witnessed his rejection of various temptations, and had come to know a man who was too conflicted, too tortured to ever be Ben Solo again. Yet the visage of Ben Solo stared back at Hux from the flatholo snapshot with a timid smile and passionless eyes, at Hux who had thought he knew Kylo Ren.

Could it be possible, that Kylo Ren was tampered with? After all Hux knew little of the myriad powers and applications of the Force. But Hux was a man above wishful thinking, and the facts were indisputable: Kylo Ren had been captured by the Resistance but made no known attempts at escape, Kylo Ren had renounced his name, and Kylo Ren had betrayed the First Order and left Hux behind.

(In the days after that dreadful betrayal and loss, and before she had regained her son, Leia had hunted down intel about Ben Organa Solo relentlessly.

The monster murdering and pillaging his way across the galaxy was not Ben Solo. Could not have been Ben Solo. How could her sweet boy have changed so greatly, from the shy introverted boy she remembered (the shy, introverted, temperamental and violent boy) into this nightmare from the dark? And the recordings of the mask mocked her with its inhuman visage, mocked the princess who had lost her country, parents, and now finally son too to the Dark.

And it must have been the Dark’s insidious work that had so twisted Ben. After all Leia knew too well how the power of the Force corrupts. And the blood of Skywalker was ever one part blessing and two parts curse.)

****⍟****

 

** **Isolation** **

Before that one fortunate young Kanjiklubber was released, another much unluckier Kanjiklubber went insane during a prolonged stay in isolation. He died in his cell, and was thrown out with the trash.

Hux pieced together what he could make out of the prison’s partial blue prints with Doctor Pellaeon, and charted out the possible locations of all the isolation cells. The cells were close together, although placed irregularly and insulated with thick walls. Through some of these walls there were cracks and holes from the wear and tear of time and shoddy construction. Some of these cracks led nowhere, while a very few, through lucky coincidence, allowed adjacent cellmates some interaction, even entombed as they were in the dark. The guards didn’t care, the wardens never wandered this far down the pit, and the inmates were ever grateful for this small reprieve.

A minor project was thus started under Hux’s suggestion, to slowly and strategically dig and drill very small holes through every isolation cell wall, so that all the inmates may at least have another soul to converse with. Hux did not want his allies to die on him unnecessarily. It would be such a bother to train new ones. And this would be a great test of both the prison’s security system and staff, as well as the extent of Nama Ren’s Force-related powers.

People dug best as they could, tracks were covered, guards were redirected through mundane and magical means, and Nama Ren, who was itching for something to do, volunteered themselves for isolation (Nama Ren liked isolation. It was great for meditation. And the tight, dark, and damp space made them feel strangely comfortable and safe), and singlehandedly (many-tentacledly?) finished most of the holes, too fine to be noticed by casual glances of the human eye, but more than enough to let sound through.

When Nama Ren drilled one last hole with the Force on the wall of the third last cell, a cell that they had never been put into before, they swore they felt something underneath. Nama Ren unraveled the Force from a tightly knit drill to soft seeping tendrils and reached down.

Down, down, down into the planet they probed, until they reached a room, a man-made room that was not on any of the blue plans stolen by Doctor Pellaeon through quick glances and eidetic memorization.

****⍟****


	12. Thrawn

** **Day 34** **

Ben Solo stared down Hux, confrontational and accusing, “You’ve never told me your so-called long-term-care patient is Grand Admiral Thrawn!” 

“I have just told you that very thing, Lord Ren. Please do not spread this information around. The Grand Admiral does not wish to be bothered by the masses,” Hux looked back at Ben with a neutral expression on his face.

“Please Hux, my name is Ben Solo! But never mind that, I thought Thrawn was dead long ago, assassinated, not a half-dead cripple. What did your people do to him, Hux?”

“You mean what the Rebels and the New Republic had done to him! First there were the lies and secrete internment, in spite of the New Republic’s claims of transparency on the matter of the man’s death! Then a lack of proper medical care despite the Rebels’ claims of so-called humane treatment of prisoners, leading to the loss of functions in his legs! And finally the man was subjected to years of isolation and deprivation until we dug him out of a living tomb! I wonder if a certain Princess knew about this particular skeleton in the New Republic’s closet. Now a once great mind is failing along with its body from both abuse and advanced age. It would have been far more merciful for the Rebels to allow the Grand Admiral an honourable end,” Hux’s face flushed red in agitation. That could have been him. The pitiful creature under the rocks could have easily been one ex-General Hux.

“You talk of honourable ends, yet you still seek to prolong the man’s life and suffering, and you still bring him along on your ship to use the last of his mind and the last of his breath to help you fuel your ambitions?”

Hux exhaled and tightened his gloved hands into fists, “Indeed I bring the Grand Admiral along on my ship, in full accordance to his own request. Grand Admiral Thrawn, in his more lucid spells, had expressed personal interest in seeing this age old conflict to an end. We respect his wishes, as we respect him for the great man that he was, and the brilliant strategist that he is still, even if only in flashes and brief moments. We will care for his every physical need, and hopefully show him, in the scant few years remaining to him, the rise of a First Order to bring peace and stability to this galaxy that he so loves!”

**

The two sly Imperial war beasts, one old and bitter and one young and wrathful, each took measure of the other, and congratulated themselves on their own good fortune, to have found such a useful tool with such nicely aligned common goals.

****⍟****

 

** **Thrawn** **

Captain Gilad Pellaeon used to cry in regret in front of his young nephew named after himself, on how he had failed his commanding officer, on not being able to even be by the man’s side as he was betrayed and assassinated.

Hux used to read accounts of the Imperial legions and their triumphs and failures. First under bedcovers as a child, with a cheap flashlight in hand, then as a youth in the Academy, both in class and during rare spare times. He wondered at the tactical prowess boasted by the Imperial Grand Admirals, and dragged his fingers across the holos of their pristine white uniforms.

**

Little Gilad admired the legends of that bygone era.

Young Brendol aspired to be a legend one day himself.

Neither had given too much thought about what happened to legends at their ends, until they came face to face with the never-registered prisoner inside the Pit’s only unnumbered cell.

**

“Who…?”

“This is Doctor Pellaeon, he is here to assess your condition, sir,” Hux gently pushed the Doctor forward.

“Pellaeon? Captain Pellaeon? Is that you? But your face, your build, why so unfamiliar… … …have the Rebels been routed yet?”

“A, Admiral? Oh Grand Admiral. No, I am Gilad Pellaeon the younger. Captain Pellaeon was my uncle. He had told me so much about you.”

“The Rebels, Captain…”

“The Rebels are gone. You are safe. Please, please rest Sir.” The good Doctor did not have the heart to tell his childhood hero the truth.

Dr. Pellaeon swabbed the paper dry skin on a boney blue arm, and set up a diluted nutrient drip with steady hands despite his shaking voice.

**

(We should be grateful for this second chance that the New Republic had given us, Gilad dear.

Do stop listening to your dotty old uncle. He had filled your head with such strange notions, Gilad dear.

What is this? Shred it! No, burn it in the sink, you stupid child! What good had following that blue subhuman freak ever done for our family! Now you put him in your drawings? You are never to visit your uncle again, Gilad. No husband dear, you be quiet. Your brother is under permanent house arrest for gods’ sake! We don’t want to associate with him any more than we have to! So what if the good community law enforcement officers are withholding rations! Let the old coot starve. I am doing this for the good of OUR family! 

Always smile, and never show a moment of ungratefulness, Gilad dear. We can’t afford to give your instructors and fellow students more fuel to add to the fire. 

They stole your research? Oh what nonsense, Gilad dear. How else would it get published? By the child of an ex-Imperial? Never.

Oh you are being assigned where? Oh just think, it is much better to be working there than jailed there now, Gilad dear.

Gilad Pellaeon the younger had never lost his temper, never raised his voice, never gave a public opinion his whole life. Self-policing and self-censoring were wonderful things, they kept him unnoticed and mostly left alone.

So now, looking at the shell of the legend that his beloved uncle had sang ballads of praises to, at this destroyed great military mind and exemplar Imperial who was his personal hero, not dead, not assassinated as the New Republic had boasted, but worse, so much worse, Gilad found he could not dredge up in his own empty self even a speck of anger.

But the pale man standing straight and tall next to him was a true Imperial heir, unlike the coward and traitor that Gilad’s family had made him into. And perhaps, just perhaps, this fiery-haired man would have passion enough to feel Gilad’s share of rage for him, and let this rage be known to the world.)

**

“We cannot move him or provide him with better amenities, unless you wish to do the unthinkably stupid and join your Grand Admiral in his cell. But I agree that the Grand Admiral needs all the proper medical care you could covertly provide. We managed to make it into his cell today undetected, we could no doubt manage many repeat performances if careful. We will cover for you, Doctor, anyway we can. I will consult with a few subject experts on how to hack the caregiver droids, should the need arise. Nama Ren could help monitor the actual staff assigned to Grand Admiral Thrawn, for there must be staff other than just simple machines.” Hux rubbed at his temple. They were taking an enormous risk. Yet the Doctor would not be deterred, and Hux had little guarantee that Pellaeon wouldn’t try to visit Thrawn by himself even without help, and even less confidence that Pellaeon wouldn’t rat out the rest of them should he get caught.

**

Around the same time when the ex-Grand Admiral had improved enough to hold hour long lucid conversations with the ex-General on the state of the outside world and the goings-on of the Pit, Tasu Leech’s wife became a favourite friend of the Pit’s procurement staff and guards for her generous donations.

The woman had made more blankets and kerchiefs and a heavy long jacket (Hux was rather fond of that jacket. It was nothing like his gaberwool greatcoat, but it did have its own flair. Too bad he could not wear it freely).

****⍟****


	13. Deaths and Liberty

** **Day 411** **

Hux lay awake at night, staring at his ceiling, listening to the hum of the Vengeance II’s old engine (not his ship. His ship was gone).

He had his army now. The stragglers of the First Order slowly but surely regrouped around the Vengeance II, faithful and committed to the cause, and now to him as well. Pirates, smugglers, bounty hunters and spacer gangs tentatively trickled in, opportunistic and cautious, swearing allegiance to the Guavian Death Gang lest they be absorbed in a more violent manner or destroyed altogether.

He had his loyal soldiers, dutiful officers, blood family, the advice of a living legend, and eventually, if he played his cards right, and he would play them right this time, the majority support of the Outer Rim as well.

As for that strange yet admittedly useful mysticism called the Force, he had a Knight both powerful and suitably intimidating, who followed orders and asked no questions (A poor Stormtrooper stifled a scream as she opened a supply closet, and found Nama Ren curled up on one of the bigger shelves, sleeping soundly (it was nice and snug and dark). Can’t the Knight just stay put in the General’s closet instead of giving grunts like her heart attacks?). The creature was of much more agreeable company too, the perfect mixture between an octopus and a cat, with none of a human’s history and baggage.

Then why does he still agonize over Kylo Ren, when the man was so set on being Ben Solo? Hux was sure, since a very young age (after his mother had left him behind, and his father had transferred his animosity towards the woman onto her son), that there was something missing within him. He had felt no deep sadness at the absence of his mother, no great loss at the disdain of his father, no miserable dejection at the lack of true friends. 

So why reciprocate all those years ago when a sullen boy had first reached out? Why rescue this failure from the snow? Why develop what he thought might have been feelings, when he was so easily left behind (even if there was possible manipulation by the Jedi, falling to mystical mind tricks simply meant Ren did not try to resist hard enough!)? Why still remember him with bitterness and fondness both? Why panic and mount a risky rescue effort upon learning about his impending execution? Why keep the man now, when he was uncooperative (as usual), ungrateful (entitled princeling), and offered little added values to Hux’s operations (too risky to use in his full capacity still)?

Brendol, you are a fool, a weak, undisciplined, and sentimental fool, just like that despicable woman who had birthed you. Hux’s father’s scorn echoed in his head.

Silly little Bren, you say you have no heart, but I know you guard the few shards you have so carefully, so distrustful and afraid to be hurt, that I worry should you one day give a piece away, you would not know how to take it back. Hux’s mother’s voice sighed in the dark.

**

Ben Solo listened to the Stormtroopers who hung around the canteen in casual wear, talking about how glad they were that their General was back. How now they would finally have some stability and familiar structure again.

Poor brainwashed souls.

One of them talked of his daring rescue from the Stormtrooper deprogramming facility by the fearsome Lioness, their old Captain Phasma. He was so sure he was going to get gutted for parts just like his cellmate. The man used to complain about the grueling day to day aboard the Finalizer. Well he sure isn’t complaining now. The others shuddered at his tale.

Ben finished his drink and walked away.

Kylo Ren sneered at the Troopers. Tools for the First Order, sub-humans to the vultures and parasites infesting the New Republic. This is what the weak deserve!

**

Ben Solo looked at the statue of a tall freckled woman with familiar features, standing proud with a long vibroblade in one hand and a blaster in the other, and felt a sense of ridiculousness.

“The war goddess Robberta!” the local priest exclaimed.

Under the statue was a plaque, detailing the goddess’ many godly exploits. To Ben’s eyes some of these tales detailed the organization of local law enforcement and border patrols to better protect the old pirate woman’s new territory. As for songs praising how the merciful goddess had returned some of her offerings back to her people? That looked like Hux’s mother had taken seventy percent of looted goods and valuables for herself, and directed the meager remains to infrastructure and irrigation projects, to increase her new territory’s value.

How ridiculous that these people would worship a criminal for these small acts of mercy?

How ridiculous that these forgotten people had to look up to a pirate at all for protection and governance and a hint of divinity?

Kylo Ren admired the statue’s marshal silhouette against the bright noon sun, and imagined a more masculine figure in its stead. Hux had looked rather fetching in his smuggler’s long coat, blaster rifle steady and scorching as he directed their latest raid.

**

Ben Solo walked with Tasu Leech’s wife after a meal of clay oven baked tufted merganser, through her home and humble settlement, through this corner of the universe that her people had carved out for themselves.

“And the New Republic wants to tax us, now that we have money and goods to spare! Where were they when we were kept under-heel by the Hutt?” the woman’s niece spat angrily. “And now the native Jablogians want us humans all gone. Nar Kanji for Jablogians and no one else. Where do they suppose we could move to? We were born here! Why weren’t they worried about us taking up their water and air when they helped the Hutts bring our ancestors here as slaves? I’ve tried to bring this matter up with the New Republic senator in charge of the planet closest to ours and haven’t heard a thing back! But Hux, Hux would fix this. He would fix this permanently. He promised.”

Ben sighed at the New Republic’s impotence, and shuddered to think what a permanent solution from General Starkiller would look like.

Kylo Ren nodded in approval at the bog where Tasu Leech and his wife had dumped a rival Jablogian gang’s bodies, many years ago.

**

Ben Solo closed the window displaying a select sample of the Pit’s sub warden’s reports to his superiors, transmitted to Ben’s com console from an unknown sender, likely the same person who sent him the medical reports from Hux’s earlier days in the Pit.

Ben lay flat on his bed, stared at the ceiling, and could not sleep at all.

Kylo Ren raged and raved. He would resurrect these curs if only he could, just to kill them all again for sullying what so rightly belonged to him!

**

As Ben Solo’s frustration and doubt grew, so did his anger grow. This familiar, comforting anger.

And Ben was surprised, when he managed to throw the assassin hired by a rival of the Guavian Death Gang through two layers of transparisteel walls and the hull of their parked transport ship with nothing but the Force. He had not been able to do something like that for a long time, not since when he was still Kylo Ren (Hux screeched at a volume befitting of a pirate lord in the background. We could have been in space and all dead! What were you thinking you blundering moron?! Who will pay for my ship?!)

Kylo Ren roared with laughter. The Dark was always strong within Ben, and it had been steadily accumulating and growing less and less controllable as a result of repression and lack of outlet.

**

Lord Master Ren! Such a sickling whirlwind of purest Dark!

My name is Ben Solo. Ben chanted the complaint like a mantra. He was Ben Solo. He was Ben Solo. Was he not?

**

Ben Solo looked at the derelict Jedi template dubiously, and turned to give an equally dubious look to Nama Ren.

“Yes! This is the place the wise brown bath-robed human man once showed to us! He said it was good to meditate here, to find balance in the Force. We thrive on the Dark, but too much Dark like Lord Master Ren has in a human isn’t healthy. You’d get all scaled and more scarred and strange looking for your species. Join us, meditate,” Nama Ren waved their tentacles excitedly.

Ben was not sure what made him follow Nama Ren into the temple that day. But sitting upon a high dais jetting out of the giant sunken pool at the bottom of the ruins, lit by the dim early morning light filtering through rocks and leaves and vines, calmed by the gentle splashes made by Nama Ren as they swam around in their native form, Ben felt barriers he didn’t even notice melt away.

And that was when Ben Solo realized there was no Ben Organa Solo or Kylo Ren. There was ever only Ben, from hopeful birth to living disappointment to the Jedi school massacre, from the New Republic to Snoke to the First Order, with Leia then Hux and then back to Leia again, in confinement and now aimless wandering. There was ever just Ben.

From the Dark Snoke had whispered and enticed. Ben remembered days, weeks, months spent in Snoke’s meditation room, receiving cleansing, receiving a new name. But Ben could not shed all of the blame off on Snoke, not really.

In the Light Leia and Luke had called and beckoned. Ben remembered days, weeks, months spent in the Resistance holding cell, undergoing rehabilitation, reviving his old name. Yet Ben could not fault his family, his family who only wanted the best for their wayward child.

How ironic, that in seeking accession, Ben Organa Solo, not Snoke, had torn and ripped at himself until he had created the mutilated wound that was Kylo Ren. And in seeking acceptance, Kylo Ren, not Luke or Leia, had hacked and cleaved until there was only the meek and diminished Ben Organa Solo left.

In trying to please one aspect of the Force (himself) he’d disappointed the other. In trying to fit other people’s notion of balance he had accidentally made himself untrue again and again.

Sitting upon rock and water, surrounded by dancing sunlight and flickering shadows, resonating with both the Light still tangible in the old temple and the Dark that so naturally filled members of the near extinct Templum Caelum Infinita-pus species, Ben breathed in and out. And the impression of what others had feared and saw as Kylo Ren quieted inside Ben’s head. And the mask of what people had wished Ben Organa Solo to be faded away. Ben sat by his own simple self on the altar.

The Dark calmed, and the Light slowly trickled back, drop by drop, just like the rain, mist, and morning dew, drop by drop, falling into the sunken pool. Drip, drip, splash. Drip, drip, splash, turning the murky dark water idocrase green.

Tears ran down Ben’s face and splashed on the stone, wetting the soft fabric of his pants. Drip, drip, drop.

And Ben bid his father farewell, his father who was killed by his own two hands. And Ben bid his mother farewell, his mother who could scarcely bear to look at her husband’s killer in his scarred face, yet never did give her son up. And Ben bid all the other people that he had murdered and destroyed no farewell at, for he suddenly remembered how he had never really cared about most people he’d hurt, even as a young child. 

And Ben finally let himself acknowledge how he had missed Hux furiously during his own incarceration, until he drowned the pain of that particular separation in Light. How he had laid awake many nights, finding the taste of so-called redemption too bitter and lonely to his liking. How he had wanted to cry and scream and throttle his therapist, when the woman told him about Hux’s supposed suicide with a touch of glee. 

That warmonger, that maniac, that child soldier shaped by the hands and expectations of other men. That beast birthed in violence and raised for war. That calm, unwavering constant who was one of the most resilient persons Ben had ever known, who had looked at the twisted dark and wrongness in Ben and easily embraced him as he was in recognition and kinship, who was the only person left in the universe that Ben could still turn to.

And if Hux had only ever known Ben by the name of Kylo Ren, then so be it, for what was a monster by any other name?

**

When Hux addressed the Skywalker scion newly returned from meditations as Kylo Ren, and was met with a polite nod in return instead of the annoying insistence to be called Ben Solo, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Nama Ren.

Nama Ren shrugged with all their visible tentacles. Humans were such curious creatures, and Lord Master Ren was doubly so.

Everyone else barely noticed this small change. After all, they had been calling the Master Knight Lord Kylo Ren all along, and the man had always acknowledged them despite protestations, had he not? 

****⍟****

 

** **Deaths and Liberty** **

Mitaka had counted himself lucky when his band of surviving Finalizer crew had liberated an old Imperial Star Destroyer from smugglers.

Mitaka had counted himself doubly lucky when they ran into Unamo a year later, in command of her own similarly commandeered Star Destroyer, an even more rickety old thing. But the gains made from raiding raiders and mugging smugglers were more than enough to keep the old rust buckets afloat and the crews fed.

The pirate gang (that’s all they were now, fallen thieves and marauders instead of honourable soldiers) grew, from First Order stragglers who had heard the word, to small-time outlaws and raiders looking for protection, to ex-FO inmates liberated by Phasma and her small team of Stormtroopers turned mercenaries.

But despite that growth, the one facility they really wished to breach, the Pit, along with its robust orbital security system and planetary shields, remained tauntingly out of their reach. When the New Republic media broadcasted the news of the General’s suicide, and the New Republic holonet celebrated Starkiller’s death, the crew held a day of mourning. That year saw a surge of aggressive attacks on New Republic transport ships by Outer Rim pirates, and one senator kidnapped and killed when he led a hopeful diplomatic convoy out to Wild Space.

A year after the ex-First Order fleet expanded to three refurbished Star Destroyers, Mitaka found out his General was still alive.

**

“Can’t you, just, you know, mind trick him or something? Read the access code with the Force?” Doctor Pellaeon gestured at the chief security officer, who had remained uncooperative and defiant. Oh why had he let Hux blackmail him into this? 

Nama Ren shook their head. That’s not how the Force worked for them. The deep, calming Force, dark as deepest ocean and farthest space, the Force which came so naturally to Nama Ren, was always meant to supplement their people’s physical strength and natural talents than to be shaped and defined. And the minds of other sentients were ever so strange.

Hux seethed. On one hand, with the sub warden gone off-planet for his once a year vacation, many staff members had become more lax than usual, giving them their much needed opportunity. On the other hand, the spineless sub warden would have given up the code by now.

“Oh just jab the man with a truth serum already. I know you carry syringes around for self-defense,” the ex-General snapped at the Doctor.

“But my oath to do no harm!”

“You’ve already helped me poison over half of the staff with contaminated caf! You are collaborating with convicted criminals! Stop dithering over semantics, Doctor.”

**

Outside of the barricaded central control office, the full prison riot raged on. Without the aid of the suddenly malfunctioning security droids and weak from mild food poisoning that was initially treated more as a nuisance than a security risk, staff and guards found themselves easily overwhelmed. 

**

Untimely disabled defense systems and lowered shields on key installations were things most Imperials and their scions were familiar with.

How satisfying then, to finally turn the tables.

**

The Vengeance II welcomed many aboard that day, from ex-inmates to ex-prison guards. 

The Guavian Death Gang similarly welcome many new members. Bala-Tik had been busy recruiting. 

Those who were not flying off to new-found freedom were systematically executed, public servants, private contractors, and criminals alike. The ocean feasted until the sea foams turned red.

And the General once again ascended the bridge of a (slightly creaky) Star Destroyer, 

(Bala-Tik and Tasu Leech also took back their old places. One embraced by welcoming arms, the other reinstated through assisted disembowelments of opportunistic upstarts.)

(Nama Ren finally got a proper giant salt water pool.)

**

“Where to now, General?” Mitaka asked Hux, his voice full of hope.

“Ah Lieutenant, I’m not sure if I am a General anymore. My father’s methods have failed. Perhaps, just perhaps, it is now time to take a page out of my Mother’s playbook,” Hux looked at the endless stars before him, and said.

The Outer Rim worlds had descended into utter chaos after the total defeat of the First Order, the one governing body trying to uphold some semblance of law while playing a precarious balance game between all the rival gangs and cartels. Many ex-soldiers and officers who had escaped the justice system of the New Republic, as well as many out-of-job contractors, weapon developers, raw material suppliers had turned to criminal activities for their own sustenance. The whole mess both appalled Hux, his father’s son, and excited Hux, his mother’s child. Out of chaos came opportunity after all. 

**

Other surviving First Order ships and straggler groups marveled at how Hux had managed to become even more efficient, successful, and calculating in his strategies since they had last known him. And they flocked to him, to the General’s fleet.

Other surviving First Order ships and stragglers groups expressed their doubts, when instead of riding on the waves of his success to fly the First Order’s banners high and reassert their dominance over the Outer Rim, Hux ordered his fleet to lay low, discard their uniforms and formalities, and blend in with the other outlaws of the Rim worlds. But the General was the highest ranking officer left, and the General’s ships were the best maintained, arms best stocked, and stores the most plenty. So they swallowed their questions and obeyed.

Besides, a rumor circulated that Hux had found a memoir by the legendary Grand Admiral Thrawn, which detailed the Chiss’s experience and techniques. Surly a Grand Admiral’s methods would not lead them astray.

Hux and Thrawn (when he was himself) both scuffed at the notion. As if such things could be learned from a book. Almost as ridiculous a fancy as learning an enemy’s culture and martial habits through art to ensure military success. But people were ever fools.

**

The former First Order spread out across the Outer Rims as bands of militarily-trained and highly successful raiders, traffickers, and mercenaries, basically doing what they did before Hux came back.

But now they had a functional network, several home bases, full contingents of support staff, their own food production, manufacturing, and mining operations, clear directions, superior strategies, and reliable backup (not to mention a comprehensive health and dental coverage and a free kindergarten).

Hux joined his people’s operations from time to time, but never under his own name.

**

Hux looked out at the galaxy full of stars from his position on the bridge. He had toiled for his father, he had bent for Snoke. Finally Hux would now strive not for other men, but for his very own self. And the stars glittering like jewels contrasted by dark velvet would all one day be his for the picking.

**

Thrawn looked out at the galaxy full of stars from the confines of his bed, only half listening to the background noise of young Pellaeon quietly reading old Imperial poetry aloud for his patient and Grand Admiral. The stars that once glittered like bright jewels looked dim to his aged red eyes.

The Chiss closed his eyes and withdrew into his own mind.

Thrawn had once lamented unnecessary loss of life. Thrawn had once known mercy and restraint. But now, when the Chiss looked within his old derelict self, reached down all the way to his own deepest being and looked, he could not dredge up even a speck of mercy or restraint, as if those too had dripped and leaked away along with his sanity in that tiny underground cell.

With thoughts of mercy and restraint, or rather their lack, came thoughts of the fiery haired human boy, with his boundless ambition, bottled anger, and well-hidden mania. Oh how the boy had praised order and peace, but he would apathetically see the worlds burn in fire and rivers flow with blood, have suns blotted out and moons shattered, and unleash the blind and ravenous hounds of war upon them all before achieving his goals. For the Thrawn of old, this pale bloodless human whelp would have set off all sorts of alarms. But now, all Thrawn could see was himself laughing at the burning worlds, standing beside the boy clad in Thrawn’s own old Grand Admiral whites.

****⍟****


	14. Second Coming

** **Day 419** **

Can you feel it, Lord Master Ren. The General’s anger. So pure, so strong, so sweet, a fountain of strength in the Force.

**

Lord Ren, you have often accused me of emotionlessness. And indeed, even Starkiller was only the reflected anger of my father. But now I finally feel an anger of my own.

Yet do not be blinded by my rage, for rage is but an emotion. And emotions alone, no matter how strong, should not dictate the actions of men. There are higher callings, greater purposes, stronger believes.

And I am glad, that you have finally made the correct decision to join us, join me, to once again together pursue these higher callings, Lord Ren, dear Kylo.

**

“How come they each get a day with you in random rotation, and I get nothing?” Kylo stopped Hux after dinner one day with question and slight hurt in his tone.

“Whatever do you mean?” Hux asked, putting away his emptied tray.

“What do I mean?” Kylo gestured dramatically. “Thrawn I can understand. You update him on current events and talk about strategies whenever he is lucid enough to make sense. But Nama Ren? Tasu Leech? Your own cousin Bala-Tik? Phasma? Mitaka? Unamo? Stormtroopers too??? And then there are all these other people I don’t even know the names of?”

“Lord Ren, while it heartens me to see you have finally matured enough to understand the meaning of urgency and priority in regards to my meetings with Grand Admiral Thrawn, I could not believe you would question me about my other guests,” Hux turned around and gestured for Kylo to walk with him, preferably away from the officers’ cafeteria.

“Turandot is the other genetic donor of my future children…” Hux started on Kylo’s list of names, but was rudely cut off.

“Future children? They are right there on deck two, swimming around in the tank!” Ren pulled at his hair in frustration. All these years and Hux was still as cold and inhuman as an ice sculpture in regards to most things in life.

“Of course future children. They don’t even have fully functional brains yet! As they are, they are little more than beasts. As I was saying, as the other genetic donor of my future children, and one of my best field operatives, why would I deny Turandot from my quarters?” Hux drawled back at Ren.

“As for Tasu Leech, now that the remaining Hutt cartels are properly cowed and soon to be eradicated under joint efforts, he and his people have graciously allowed the First Order to set up permanent military bases and manufacturing plants on human-controlled portion of their planet and its surrounding satellites. The humans of Nar Kanji are important allies. Myself and Chief Tasu Leech are still in the last stages of hammering out final trade agreements and a five years development plan in regards to their sector.”

Sensing an interruption from Kylo, Hux shushed him and continued, “Now Lord Ren, as you have said yourself, Bala-Tik is my cousin. Would you fault a man for spending some time with his sole surviving family member?”

Before Kylo could get another word in, Hux continued on his near lecture, “Phasma, Mitaka, Unamo, and the Stormtrooper Captains are still my officers. When they are physically present, they expect to be physically debriefed by me. It is a show of mutual respect, and builds loyalty and morale. The rest are regional dignitaries, gang leaders, advisors and industry representatives. I have to meet them. It is a part of my job.”

“And you, Lord Ren, both newly reinstated and without any active missions, would you like to book a meeting as well?” So saying, Hux stopped walking and turned to Kylo.

“Wait, you were just meeting and talking with most of them?” Kylo squeaked

Hux’s face showed the beginning of a blotchy flush as his voice rose. “Of course. What did you think we were doing? Lord Ren, please pull your mind out of the gutters. How did you think all this work ever got done, if all I did was indulge in evenings of debauchery? And even you must know that an Empire cannot be won and maintained on one’s back. You lose respect, distance, proper intimidation, and people would think you are playing favourites.”

“But ‘the other genetic donor of your future children’ is not playing favourites? Really Hux? Nama Ren? They are not even mammalian!” Kylo’s voice rose in response.

“Of all things, you latch onto that?” Hux’s entire visage darkened. His voice lowered, but the intonation was no less thunderous, “Why the concern, Lord Ren? I thought we were done? In the past-tense? Our so-called relationship no more? Was this not what you have announced to the worlds as you abandoned me for your precious mother and your precious redemption, Ben Solo?” And I would have taken you back too, taken you back in a heartbeat, after wondering about your predicaments even as my own was bleak, after wasting my fleet’s precious resources for a rescue based on sentimental personal reasons, after all the excuses I have made for you. But you’ve never even acknowledged what we’ve had, when you had chances plenty. You’ve never came knocking on my door, Kylo Ren.

“Hux…” Kylo Ren wanted to reach out, but found he could not.

“Ren.” Hux’s tone was clipped and cold as sharp ice chips.

**

But that night Kylo still loitered on one side of Hux’s door, while Hux paced restlessly on the other.

Nama Ren passed by, punched in the access code with one tentacle, and dragged Kylo inside with another.

****⍟****

 

** **Second Coming** **

The Pit’s chief warden shook before the New Republic council. It was his oversight! His fault! His dereliction of duty that had released these criminals back into the wild!

The Pit’s chief warden shook in his home. What if one of the inmates comes for him? What if Starkiller’s assassins come for him? But none came for him, this small man, this insignificant ant. So he lived in fear, lived in fear till the end of his days.

**

The New Republic put out bounties for the escaped Starkiller General and Jedi Killer Ben Solo (no one knew exactly how the latter had managed to escape from the small exclusive correctional facility, as there were no survivors. Some of the victims were clearly choked to death by the Force (Nama Ren had a field day that day. Kylo accused Hux of framing Ben. Hux deflected the blame with a clear conscience onto the general populace and the New Republic investigation team. I have sent my most powerful agent. It was them who had drawn the wrong conclusions. Do be reasonable, Ren), and all surveillance records were wiped clean). Capital punishment was reinstated. They should have never let one woman’s sentiment (it was more than just Leia’s belief. But blaming a dead woman was easier than giving the opposition a platform) stay their hand.

But when what was left of the Resistance, led by an ex-Stormtrooper of all things, suggested action plans and preemptive mobilization to stem the tattered First Order before they could regroup around their newly liberated General, the New Republic representatives argued and debated and deliberated, dithering and tripping over one another with red tape.

The First Order was gone as a government and as a military. Most of their ships were destroyed. Most of their men dead or scattered. The Outer Rim Territories were wild again, with each planet fending for their own, and no overarching tyrant to tie their meager resources together. And with the last humiliating defeat and current punishing embargo by the Core Worlds for the worst FO supporters and sympathizers, why would any of them support the First Order ever again? And Starkiller, that non-charismatic and stiff military man, was not a General anymore. He was just a pirate. A two-bit gangster who got his ships and men by spreading his legs like a whore.

Why should the Resistance receive funding from the public coffer? What do they have to show for all the money they had taken before? Do you forget that it was the Republic worlds’ joint fleet that had dealt the First Order their final crushing blow? And how should they foot the bills of such mobilization? Why should some contribute more, and others less? Even if they do mobilize, how does one effectively send a combined army against one elusive pirate? What if the Outer Rim worlds become offended and alarmed by large Core military presence, and we spark off an actual multi-interplanetary conflict? 

Maybe we should increase border patrols and law enforcement presence? Maybe we should triple the reward on Starkiller’s head? Some suggested hiring bounty hunters and assassins, a cheap solution to a potentially expensive problem.

And yet some kinder, more naïve planets even called for leniency and peace. For material donations and monetary support to the treacherous Outer Rim worlds. Maybe when they see the benefits of the New Republic, they would renounce Starkiller and bring him down on their own?

So back and forth, forth and back the senate argued. 

Finn stormed out of the meetings twice, praying to Leia for her saintly patience.

Poe quit the New Republic Starfleet again, taking many promising new pilots with him.

Rey simply took up her staff and trained harder. At some point she had felt a shift in the Force. Ben Solo had never managed to really cast off the Dark despite his pleas and vows. But now that uncertain Dark had seemed to shift more towards the Light? Firmer and surer, with renewed purpose and conviction, slowly and steadily towards the Light? Yet why did she feel so uneasy? Why were her visions plagued by death and strife and abominations from the blackest deep?

Back and forth, forth and back the senate argued more. But gradually there were no more news of the First Order. Even traces of Starkiller had disappeared along with the already rare sightings of Ben Solo. Maybe the problem had resolved itself?

Back and forth, forth and back the senate argued about other things now. The rumors of Starkiller and Ben Solo’s deaths at the hands of Outer Rim gangs were a cause for celebration. The First Order remnants were once again scattered to become pockets of minor warlords and petty criminals. 

**

Several gangs rose to prominence in the Outer Rims. But the New Republic cared not for those. Let those barbarians, those rabid wild dogs, tear themselves apart.

**

Suddenly and without warning, the Outer Rim gangs and militant groups consolidated under one banner, the banner of The Order, red as a ribbon of blood flying high behind a fiery haired man clad in pristine white.

The Order launched its simultaneous attacks on multiple Mid Rim worlds with military precision and coordination, shocking the New Republic all the way from distant allies to its very Core.

**

On the day before the attack, a private funeral was held for a certain old Chiss, who had passed after one last moment of full wakefulness, during which the flickering candle of his life roared to a towering flame. The former Grand Admiral had thanked his faithful second’s faithful nephew, blessed his strange hybrid children, and nodded at his red haired successor. Never lose a battle by never fighting a battle you know you might lose. What a great disservice that upstart Snoke had done the children of the Empire then, when he forced them to fight before they were ready. Now they were tested and fully grown, now they were ready. It was time for fighting now.

And Mitth'raw'nuruodo died that day as himself instead of the invalid shell he was forced to become. And he died with a smile on his face, knowing that before the candle of his life flickered out, the cinders from its flame would light a fire of righteous vengeance and virtuous change to renew the plains and set the horizons alight. 

**

The death of hundreds millions and subjugation of hundreds billions marked the first day of the second coming of General Starkiller, no, Grand Admiral Starkiller now, as his forces, the Outer Rim’s ravenous, savage forces, swept the galaxy over in destruction and blood.

And the trails of bodies left in this new war's wake made the horrors of Starkiller look tame.

****⍟****


	15. Extra: Proliferation

** **Extra: Proliferation** **

“Wait, so I just jack off into the tank?” Ren peered dubiously at the bundle of thousands of small round eggs stuck on the wall of the salt water tank.

“Yes. Ten centimeters away from the egg cluster if possible. Then Turandot would wave the sperms toward the eggs with their reproductive ciliates. Aim carefully now Ren,” Grand Admiral Hux of the Outer and Mid Rim Territories, chief development officer of the Guavian Shipping and Consulting Group, honourary son of Nar Kanji (awarded after the orbital bombardment of most major Jablogian settlements), and spiritual advisor to the New Knights of Ren commented helpfully from the sidelines.

Kylo Ren reached down into his pants, looked up, and saw two pairs of unblinking eyes focused on his person. The Master Knight yelled in mortification, “STOP STARING AT ME! BOTH OF YOU!!!”

Hux rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Well I have to make sure you are doing it correctly, Ren.”

Nama Ren just stared even more expectantly, their eyes never leaving Kylo’s nether regions. More family. More!

****⍟****


End file.
